


That's My Cue

by heybuckaroo (stilinskisays)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisays/pseuds/heybuckaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He breathes deeply. He's been waiting for this day to come for a long time. It's been over 70 years in the making. People have sacrificed for this to happen. Went through pain and suffering just for him. He can't let these efforts go to waste. He can't keep running away.</p>
<p>It's time.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>(Set after Captain America: Civil War.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's My Cue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what kind of fresh hell Captain America: Civil War is going to unleash on us, but this is my version of the ending without all the death, crying, bloodshed, revenge, hatred, blinding rage, tragedy, any synonym for hopelessness, etc.
> 
> Join me in prancing around a meadow full of daisies like everything is going to be okay. LET STEVE LIVE HIS LIFE FOR GOD'S SAKE.
> 
> Original filename: itcouldhappen.txt. IT COULD OKAY?

Steve's getting ready to leave the safehouse, busy packing away last minute things into his backpack, mentally checking off items in his head. Maps, guidebooks, a new notebook Sam gave him, sketchbook, some pens.

He suddenly straightens his back and goes rigid. He frantically pats the inside pocket of his jacket near his heart and sighs in relief. The compass is still there where he left it. That's good, he reassures himself. At least he's got that going for him.

He breathes deeply. He's been waiting for this day to come for a long time. It's been over 70 years in the making. People have sacrificed for this to happen. Went through pain and suffering just for him. He can't let these efforts go to waste. He can't keep running away.

It's time.

But the thing is, Steve's so tired. He keeps trying to convince himself that he deserves this break, he deserves to be free, he deserves to find himself after all that's happened. Steve doesn't want to let anyone down though, not at the price of his own freedom. He's needed now more than ever, with everything unraveling apart at the seams. The seams that he's tried to hold together since the 40s. But he's tried, he's tried so hard to do the right thing, but it just keeps turning on him right under his nose. How can he continue if he can't tell what's right anymore?

He can't be selfish. He has to make sure they can handle it without him around. What makes him think now's a good time to walk away from it all?

Steve's so wrapped up in his own thoughts that the knock on the door startles him. He instinctively crouches down to reach for his shield by the side of the wall, not even bothering to look at it, hyperfocused on the door. But his trusty shield that's been by his side through thick and thin isn't there anymore at the spot he's always put it by.

Frowning, he grabs at empty air. Realizing this, his shoulders slouch and he hunches his back. He feels lost. And truthfully, he's never stopped feeling lost. He wished Peggy was here to comfort him with her words. He doesn't know if this is such a good idea anymore...

A fist pounds on the wooden door several times. "Steve, I know you're in there. Open up. I can hear you thinking from out here, jeez." He recognizes Bucky's low, gravelly voice.

Sighing, he kneels back up and opens the door. Bucky's standing there with an eyebrow raised, his shield in tow. Sam is right behind him. They're here to send him off and to make sure he's safe. They look better than the last time he saw them.

His shield. Bucky's shield. They handed it over to him when they thought Steve was dead. Bucky didn't want it, didn't think he even deserved to be in it's presence. They insisted, though. Wouldn't take no for an answer. Sam helped.

Bucky notices that Steve is staring at the shield. He shrugs awkwardly, holding out his arm like he's offering.

Steve shakes his head. "No, it's your's now, remember? Take care of it for me."

Bucky tries to remain stoic, but Steve can see his stormy eyes softening. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

Steve relaxes a bit and smiles, letting them in, leaving the door open. He continues packing away, pacing back and forth, when Bucky invades his personal space and stands a little too close for comfort. Bucky gently tugs on Steve's bangs that are flopping on his face messily, not neatly in place like it's always been.

"What's this, huh?" Bucky asks, rubbing a few loose strands.

"What?" Steve replies dumbly.

"You let this grow?" Bucky drawls.

"Oh, huh. I guess I didn't notice."

It's not like Steve's had the luxury to leave the safehouse much. He had to be cleared for that to happen. Sure, the first few months were rough, not being able to tell anyone he was okay. Fury insisted on keeping it hush hush.

He didn't mind it after awhile though, the solitude bringing him peace for once. He had time to think over things carefully and there was plenty to keep him company. One sweep around the safehouse and you'll end up with empty tubes of acrylic and gouache, an assortment of battered brushes and bits of charcoal and oil pastels lying around. It felt nice to sketch again. The surrounding stillness of the wild gave him endless material to work with.

"I kind of like it," Steve says. It's true, he does like the hair. It reminds him of better days.

Bucky looks at him kind of funny, expression unreadable. His eyes flicker wildly from his hair to his face and back. It takes him a minute to answer.

"Yeah, I like it too," he mumbles, gaze intense, blinking slowly. He delicately brushes the bangs away from Steve's face, wondering why the action seems so familiar to him. Steve stills. Bucky stares at his handiwork, tilting his head thoughtfully. Then he drops his hand and steps away.

Sam clears his throat. He's been quiet this whole time, silently observing, letting the two of them have some space. He has his arms crossed.

"You sure you wanna do this alone?" he asks.

Steve thinks for a moment, and then lets out a long, defeated sigh. "Yeah, yeah. I think I should. I need to be alone for this."

He's more or less finished packing now. There are still some things sprawled on the coffee table and the dining chair, but he doesn't care. They weren't a part of him, anyway. What he's bringing with him is, and that's all that matters.

Steve hauls the backpack over his shoulder. It feels heavier than it should, like the weight of the world is still on his back and he has to carry it with him wherever he goes. Serum or not, it's heavy.

He almost makes it out the door, with Bucky and Sam trailing behind, when he suddenly stops, hesitating. He turns around and takes a quick glance at the shield nestled comfortably in Bucky's hand, and then at Sam, unsure.

Sam looks straight at him.

"Steve, you don't have to worry. I've got your boy's back."

Bucky huffs loudly, rolling his head back in annoyance. Steve manages to muster up a small lopsided smile, a little forlorn, and places his hand on Sam's shoulder. He squeezes hard.

"He can even lend me the shield sometime," Sam says gleefully.

Bucky snorts. "In your dreams, bird boy."

And with that, the air around them shifts. Steve's back feels lighter, maybe.

They're busy snarking at each other when Steve's phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He takes it out and squints at the scrambled number, the glare from the sun making it hard to read. He looks at Sam and Bucky and gestures that he needs to take this call. They both step away for a bit to give him some privacy.

She doesn't bother with unnecessary greetings and interrogates as soon as he answers.

"Where are you going?"

Steve's a bit caught off guard that Natasha knew the right time to call so she could catch him. But then again, it's not that entirely surprising.

"I'm not sure yet."

"I'll be around, just let me know and I'll meet up with you." A car engine revs in the background.

"Natasha, you don't have to," Steve reasons. He knows how important it is for her to not been seen, especially now.

"I want to, Steve," she says softly.

He waits a beat.

"Thanks."

"Besides, I've got a new wig to try out."

Steve can hear the smugness in her voice. "I thought you were done with that."

Natasha chuckles darkly. "You can never be done with anything, Rogers."

He sighs. He knows that all too well. "I suppose you're right."

There's palpable silence, a brief pause before she answers. "Take care of yourself. I'll see you soon."

Click.

Steve stares at the screen. Bucky is hovering over him. Steve doesn't know how long he's been there. His steps are so quiet now.

"Who was that?" Bucky teases.

"Natasha. She says--"

"What did she want?"

Steve opens and closes his mouth. He pauses. Then, he decides on a response.

"She says hi," he says, smiling.

"Oh really," Bucky hums. He isn't buying it.

\---

Steve hesitates at the doorway. "Thanks for doing this, guys. I owe you." He's stalling.

They both huff and shove him out of the house, telling him to leave. "Go! Before we personally throw you into the helicopter so you can't change your mind," Sam retorts.

Steve grins as he's being pushed outside.

Bucky groans. "Shoulda known a punk like you would enjoy that."

Steve's smile falters a bit. "Oh, one more thing," he says. Bucky and Sam both roll their eyes in an alarmingly synchronized fashion. They look at him expectantly.

"Watch over Tony for me, alright?"

It's a given. Sam doesn't need an explanation, but Bucky rubs his face in frustration. He lets out an agonized grunt.

"Fine, fine. For you I will," he says, darting his metal index finger and pointing at Steve accusingly. "But for the record, he's a pain in the ass. I don't know why you'd still care, after what he did."

Steve gives him a knowing glare. The one he uses when he's draped in stars and stripes, when he needs to get a point across. Those blue eyes never looked so darn earnest. How does he do this, every time? It's maddening.

Bucky feels like his soul is being seared right through. He shifts his eyes to focus on something else, crossing his arms in defiance and kicking a stray rock with the heel of his boot.

Bucky knows why. He's seen Tony pouring himself over the evidence, replaying over and over every video feed he can find, scouring the internet, even looking through the papers for anything. Everything. Tony makes fun of them for reading the papers ("Bunch of 90 year olds who don't appreciate technology, especially if they're given to you for FREE"), but look who's doing it now?

Tony blames himself, but mostly because he doesn't know. It's cruel, but Steve would rather keep it this way. The last thing he wants to do is complicate things before he leaves. They were complicated to begin with. Maybe one day he'll tell Tony that he's okay.

A loud roar hovers over the distance, approaching closer. It's his cue. Steve hugs them both tightly, memorizing how they feel when he needs a reminder for later. As he's walking away, he turns around to look at them once more and salutes them both before stepping into the helicopter Fury sent to fetch him. Bucky waves (or what he calls waving, which is more like "shoo, go away now"). Sam salutes back.

They watch the helicopter until it's out of sight.

 

 

"So, what should we do now?" Bucky asks.

"Well for starters, how about lunch first and then we decide on our next target, okay buddy?"

"I don't want Thai food again, Sam. We ate that like three times this week."

The keys make a jingle as Sam takes them out of his pocket. "Well, you don't want to get sushi."

Bucky stands beside the motorcycle, hands on his hips. "It's RAW FISH, Sam."

"And I keep telling you it'll help you live longer."

"What makes you think I want to?"

Sam is exasperated. "I swear to God, Barnes. Just get on." He tosses Bucky a helmet.

Bucky smirks and catches it with eerily stealth precision, arm steady. They climb onto the motorcycle, Sam leading and Bucky holding onto him. They drive away in companionable silence, neither of them wanting to engage in idle chatter as they try to wrap their minds around what comes next, now that Steve's gone.

Bucky clutches onto the leather grips of the shield, a heavy feeling rising in his chest. He thinks if he squeezes it with just enough pressure, it's almost as if he can feel Steve still with him, side by side.

He looks up at the empty sky, clear and blue and not a single cloud hanging over his head.

 

 

Steve will be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> RE: Tony not knowing. Initially, everyone thought he was dead, but I would like to believe (after much persuasion to Fury) that Steve only revealed to Bucky, Sam, Natasha and maybe Sharon (if she's not, uh, compromised by the end) about what he was planning to do. Fury was the one who executed this plan, with help from the above mentioned. I also believe Steve cannot truly be free and stay off the grid for as long as he likes if everyone knows he's alive. Tony's gonna have to live with some pain for awhile. Maybe Steve wants him to suffer a little bit. Maybe he's sadistic. Who knows.
> 
> RE: Bucky brushing away Steve's bangs. If you felt a little uncomfortable reading it, chances are it was probably an uncomfortable gesture. Steve's hair grew out like it did back in the 40s, and something triggers Bucky to brush it away. Bucky doesn't quite get why he's doing it, hence the sudden intrusion of Steve's personal space. Plus, Sam's in the background awkwardly watching the entire thing unfold. He figures it's some sort of thing they did back in the day. On the plus side, if you felt sorta warm and fuzzy about the whole thing, that's good too. I've always felt like Steve and Bucky have such a deep connection to each other that others may find it strangely intimate.
> 
> For logistical purposes, let's pretend that Bucky is skilled enough to clutch onto the shield with his metal arm and have his flesh arm around Sam without falling off the bike. You know he can. I can't, though. Barnes 1, me 0.


End file.
